


Hit It and Quit It

by Cinderella1181, Losille



Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-03
Updated: 2014-09-21
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:31:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinderella1181/pseuds/Cinderella1181, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Losille/pseuds/Losille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tom Hiddleston has developed quite the reputation as an unrepentant lothario who parties his way through the female population of every town he visits, leaving a trail of tears and broken hearts in his wake.  However, he’s never had a woman from South Boston before—that is, of course, until he meets the female version of himself in a dark Boston pub while visiting friends.  He never imagined he’d be the one who might end up losing his heart.  Could it mean the end of his wandering ways?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this has been in the works for awhile now as cinderella1181 and I have been discussing and laughing about the salacious and malicious rumors being spread around the fandom through a few industrious blogs. We took some of these rumors as a point of departure for the Tom in this story, so he definitely won’t be a squeaky clean version of his image, nor will he be what those rumors would have you believe. This is meant as satire/humor, but will turn into (we hope at least) a poignant romantic tale. We’ll see.
> 
> This first chapter was meant to be a one shot, but we decided to extend it. There is no socially redeeming value to it. It isn’t even “sexy” or “erotic” unless you’re into quickies with somewhat abrasive someones you met at a bar. But we still hope you enjoy it! :D

**July 6, 2014**

Tom nibbled on the corner of his toast, gazing out the large restaurant window onto the busy Boston street beyond it. His stomach had tied itself into a hard knot sometime in his walk over, now making it difficult to swallow the small bite or enjoy the full English he’d ordered for breakfast. How Ben had been able to find a genuine English pub in the middle of all the Irish pubs and Italian ristorantes was impressive, but even a taste of home couldn’t help him.

Not this morning. This morning, he was confusion incarnate after a strange night that left him shaken up and discombobulated. He’d gone home to his hotel and tried to sleep it off, thinking it a strange dream and he’d wake up forgetting about it in the morning. It was, after all, entirely likely he’d really had too much to drink at the bar he’d wandered into the night before. He held out hope that was all it was, but he’d woken with a pounding head and looked in the mirror only to find the evidence of a lovebite on his earlobe. Both of those things were proof enough to make him the night before and that it hadn't been a horrible dream. And it made him ill.

He hadn’t said much all morning. Ben had been respectful of his clipped answers and unusually quiet demeanor, but one glance at his friend told him that Ben would not remain silent for much longer. The man swallowed the mouthful of eggs he’d just taken. He wiped his mouth before he drew in a long breath and looked over at Tom with no little amount of worry in his expressive eyes. “You’re not speaking. You’re just staring. Are you ill? Is the food bad? We could have eaten somewhere else if you wanted to.”

“Oh, no, I’m just thinking about last night,” Tom said.

Benedict rolled his eyes and shook his head in mild disgust. “You never think about a conquest. You never dwell… _ever_.” 

Tom pursed his lips and reached for his tea, hoping that maybe drinking it would loosen something in his head and make him more communicative. The sip warmed a path down his throat, but did little else. Especially when he considered the way Ben had phrased his previous comment. Neither one of them were particularly chivalrous when it came to women and pleasure these days. Ben had no room to talk, but Tom didn’t even know where to start. 

“I know, but this girl... Bridget was her name. She was different. She made _me_ leave.”

“Bollocks!” Ben laughed. “A girl made precious, perfect playboy Tom Hiddleston leave? Say it isn’t so!”

Tom hung his head and nodded forlornly. “We finished up, she told me she had a nice time and then kicked me out saying she had to get up early for church in the morning.” 

Of course, it hadn’t been said in so many words. He could still hear her abrasive Boston accent telling him to “get the fuck out.” He just didn’t understand how she could have been so testy. It wasn’t like their evening together had been miserable. Actually, it’d been rather nice to have such an aggressive woman for a change and not one of his usual fare who needed to be romanced and coddled throughout the evening. When they’d gone back to her small place to finish the night—she hadn’t allowed him to take her back to his hotel room as per his usual—the sex had been pretty amazing albeit odd and quick.

Ben’s face turned red when he choked on his food. He coughed into his hands and reached for the iced water the waitress had brought when they first sat down. After a few long sips, he let out quite a loud laugh. And he didn’t stop.

Tom groaned. “I mean... who actually uses that excuse? I just fucked you and I’m dirty as fuck in the bedroom, but you’ve got to leave because I have to go to church in the morning?”

“Tom, this is Boston. Things are different here,” he said after gaining control of his laughter. Ben wiped at his watery eyes, trying to remain serious. “Was it at least good?”

“Bloody amazing,” Tom replied. “I can’t get her out of my mind, Benedict.”

“Then call her and do it again. You’re here for a few more days. And just think about it—tonight she can’t use the church excuse, so you know if it’s just you she’s trying to get rid of,” Ben teased.

Tom glared at his friend. “I hate you.”

“You love me. You came all the way to Boston for a pub crawl with me,” he replied. “Just call her.”

Tom sighed. “I can’t.”

“Why not?” Ben asked. 

Tom bit his lip and looked at him. “She kicked me out before I could get her phone number. I even used some of my best stuff on her!”

Ben shook his head, a grin on his lips. “I can’t believe Tom Hiddleston finally met his match.”

“Is karma really that much of a bitch? It figures I’d finally meet someone I might want to take the time to figure out and she kicks me out before I can.” However, he felt hesitant to say she was his _match_ ; perhaps she was too much like him to be worth finding again. Yet the fact remained that he couldn’t get the vivid colors of her tattoos out his head or the memory of how silky her dark hair with the pink streaks felt in his fingers as they fucked each other. Most of all, he couldn’t forget the way her piercingly dark eyes had stopped him in his tracks as he’d scanned the pub looking for his next lover.

Ben looked over the top of his cup of coffee with humor in his light eyes. “To be fair, you deserve it. It’s about time someone finally did to you what you do to every other woman you come across.”

Of course his friend was right. Tom sighed and shook his head. “She literally hit it and quit it. She got off, and then was like, ‘You gotta leave,’ and threw my trousers at my head,” he said. “I’ve never had a woman do that to me. Ever.”

“No, normally you’re the one tossing the knickers and the dress.”

“But man,” Tom drew in a breath and rubbed his tired eyes, trying to find a memory of the night he’d had. “She was like a hellcat. She just… I don’t know what it was about her.” 

\-----

_He looked around the modest flat, surprised by the rather sedate space. It seemed like she’d been to IKEA and outfitted the whole place in the boring modern aesthetic so popular in the Swedish store’s brand. Strange, considering the person who had decorated; it certainly wasn’t what he’d expected to find when he had accepted her invitation to go to her place instead of going back to his hotel._

_Compared to the woman who supposedly called it home—which, at this point, he just couldn’t say for certain it actually was her home—it was like night and day; this apartment was the good girl in the day, and she was the dark, wild seductress of the night. Frankly, he didn’t really know what to trust, but he wasn’t terribly concerned about it at the moment. She’d disappeared somewhere back into a hallway after telling him to wait in the living room. Why, he wasn’t quite sure. Wouldn’t it have been simpler in the bedroom?_

_He actually liked her assertiveness. Most... no,_ all _... of the women he shared these one night stands with needed constant attention. They wanted to be wined, dined, and taken back to his hotel or home (if he were in London or Los Angeles) and fucked. Or at least given the illusion that this meant more to him than it actually did. Then he’d make sure they got home safe. Bridget, on the other hand, had treated him as though he didn’t matter for half the night, and the other half had been only partially attentive to him, but refusing him the pleasure of buying her drinks. It took some of the pressure off of him when it came to charming his way into her pants, even though he wouldn’t have minded had he been required to be a Don Juan. At least, not for her._

_She was so unlike his usual fare, but completely enchanting all at the same time._

_With a sigh, he rubbed his hands together and slipped off his coat, tossing it on the back of a chair. There weren’t any pictures of family members on the walls or propped up on the mantle over the fireplace—actually, it didn’t seem like it was much lived in other than the fact that there were some dishes in the sink in the tiny one-person kitchen. It seemed so impersonal, this place. Cold, even._

_A floorboard behind him creaked under the light weight of his one night stand, drawing his attention away from his appraisal of her living space. He whipped around as she came out of the small hallway and tossed a small gold-wrapped condom at him. Catching the foil wrapper, he looked at it with wide eyes and then back up at her._

_"I took a guess," she said. "Large?"_

_He nodded dumbly._

_She’d slipped out of the sinfully tight dress she’d had on when she’d picked him up at the pub. In its place, she wore nothing but a lacey black bra and matching knickers. As his eyes steadily dropped lower, assessing the curves of her body and the colorful tattoos littering a good portion of her glowing skin, he made the observation that the scraps of cloth were nothing more than a required costume. They certainly showed more than they covered._

_Not that he was complaining in the slightest._

_She looked upset for a moment and let out a muffled scoff. “Well, come on. I ain’t got all fuckin’ night.”_

_“You don’t want to…” he murmured, but didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t really think beyond the fact that she very clearly had a nipple piercing straining against the satin portion of her bra.  
“What? Fucking cuddle? No… let me tell you how this goes in south Boston. I bring you home, I change, you strip your cute ass down, I blow you a little to get you hard, condom, we both get off, you fuck off home.”_

_In any other place, at any other time, he would have hated listening to the thick Bostonian accent spewing from her lips. But her words set him on fire. God, this evening was fucking strange. And he usually liked “strange”, but for once felt as though he’d reached his limit._

_She seemed to float across the floor and stopped in front him to stand on her bare toes. Her lips brushed his teasingly. “Now... consider that what I just told you fuckin’ foreplay.”_

_Tom licked his lips. He usually spent hours on women he took home; sometimes he wasn’t so generous with what they wanted, but most of the time he tried to make it good for the both of them. That usually equated to what seemed like hours of building them up. They wanted it, so he did it just to get his payoff in the end. But tonight, for a change, he wouldn’t have considered it such an imposition. He wanted to taste every inch of her skin and lick the distinct outlines of all the tattoos up her arms and down portions of her torso and back._

_He inhaled a deep breath of her light, expensive smelling perfume as he sunk his fists into the dark brown and pink strands of her hair, drawing her closer to him and devouring her lips. When he needed air, he slipped back, meeting her deadly dark eyes. “You’re beautiful, Bridget.”_

_A slow, genuine smile flickered on her face, but it was gone in an instant. She’d liked the compliment, but clearly didn’t want to dwell on it. So, he figured in an effort to get his mind off of her, she tugged at his belt. “Thanks, you’re not too fuckin’ bad yourself.”_

_He kissed her again, if only to stay her filthy mouth. His moment of appreciation dissipated immediately when one of her hands slipped past the now opened fly of his trousers. He gasped at the suddenness of it. “What the devil...”_

_Delicate fingers stroked and wrapped around his hard length. He hissed, wishing he’d worn pants beneath his trousers. It would have at least slowed her down a bit and given her one more obstacle to get through._

_“You’re awfully pushy,” he murmured as she kissed him again._

_“I just know what I want.” She stroked once more, pushing him backwards to the couch until he had no option but to sit back onto it. “I told you how things go. We’re not known for sugarcoating things. We are pretty straight fuckin’ forward over here.”_

_Tom landed with a thud on the cold leather couch. She sank down between his knees and tugged at his trousers, and realizing she did not plan to relinquish her control over the situation, he decided he would abide by her rules. It didn’t matter much to him, anyway. He’d get what he came for one way or another._

_He lifted his hips and allowed her to pull them down his legs before tossing them aside. They landed in a crumpled heap on the chair where he’d left his coat. The warmth of her feminine hands trailing his legs drew his attention back to her. Her long, manicured nails dug into the skin on his thighs. “I see I may not have to blow you. That is always a fuckin’ pleasure for those of us on the giving end.” She grinned at him and kissed his still-clothed stomach, just around his navel. “But maybe just a few passes. I wanna make sure I get you wicked hard.”_

_God, he was already, strangely, “wicked hard.” Couldn’t she feel that, with each soft stroke of her fingers along his length?_

_She lowered once more, hovering over him in such a way that he could feel the heat of her soft breathing on the sensitive skin of his cock. Bridget caught his eye and winked. “Oh, and ain’t it fuckin' fancy. It’s like it’s dressed up with a little turtle neck on.”_

_Tom wasn’t sure, but he thought he felt himself blush. “If you make fun of him, he won’t play with you.”_

_Her perfectly full red lips quirked up in a grin as she exposed the head, flicking her tongue against the tip only briefly. he nearly lifted from the seat at the quick attention. What was she doing to him, anyway? Countless women had been in the same position in the past and he’d certainly never been that aroused that quickly. She didn’t stop, either, taking just the tip into her mouth. He gasped again and wound his hand into her hair. She pulled off of him with an audible pop, looking up intently through feathery eyelashes._

_“I am pretty sure he’ll want to play with me,” she laughed. “Condom?”_

_Tom stared at her, completely dumbfounded for a few seconds, but managed to hand over the foil wrapper still in his hand. She ripped it open with one hand and her teeth like a wild animal. He wondered for a minute if she wasn’t one in disguise—a very tattooed, beautiful she wolf who liked pushing people around and doing what she wanted with them before she ended up killing them at the end of their usefulness._

_It didn’t bloody matter, he realized, as she settled the condom on his tip and, with one easy motion, rolled it down the length of his shaft with her hot mouth. Completely. A shudder started at his toes and shot upward, shaking him to the core and requiring him take a few deep breaths to keep his control. No woman had ever done that to him before. Oh, they’d tried, but they had always had to use a hand; she had made it look like child’s play. Fuck. Even if he didn’t make it out of this alive, he would die a happy man._

_“Oh my god, was that like your first blow job ever?” she asked, peaking one perfectly arched brow at him._

_He opened his mouth to speak. All that came out of his mouth was a splutter or two. He shook his head._

_She giggled softly. “No?”_

_“Huh, um, no. I just… no one has ever, uh, done_ that _before,” he said._

_“Oh. Well, it was a skill I picked up in Catholic school.”_

_Her flippant dismissal of it like this was an everyday occurrence made him curious. Was it really an everyday occurrence for her? She didn’t give him time to decide, though, as she stood up and hooked her thumbs into the elastic holding her knickers together. Wiggling her hips, she shimmied out of them, leaving the miniscule fabric in a tiny black puddle between his feet. She stepped forward, resting a knee on either side of his thighs. Fingers dug into his right shoulder for support and reached beneath her. With a low, keening moan, she eased herself onto him and stayed her movements as she adjusted to him._

_“Did you learn that in… in Catholic school, too?” he hissed, swallowing around a suddenly dry throat. God, she felt amazing._

_“Nah, the back of a Caddy on the Cape one summer.” She her hips slowly, partially lifted and pressed back down. “But I don’t think I gotta worry about you being done before the water in the lobstah pot even boils. You look like the kinda guy who’d be able to go that whole time.”_

_His hands dug into her hips in response, enjoying the wealth of her curves as he rolled his pelvis up to meet each of her deliciously focused movements above him. Slithering his fingers up her sides, he reached her bra-covered breasts. They weren’t large by his standards, but they were just enough to fit snugly into the palm of his hand. She pushed back on him and he thought for a minute that she would stop him, but instead, balanced with her hands on the center of his chest so he could swipe his thumb inside the lace to find the piercing he’d noticed earlier._

_She sucked in a sharp breath between bared teeth when he found it and lightly pinched the warm metal and tightened flesh between two fingers. Her head fell back and her hips sped up; all he could do was watch her as she took her pleasure from him. She knew exactly what she was doing. Fortunately, she was good at it._

_“Oh god,” she murmured, slowing for just a minute to lean forward._

_He shifted his hips to get a better angle, but couldn’t find any perfectly comfortable position. It just wasn’t possible the way he’d landed on the couch when she’d pushed him down. She bit his lip when he pulled away from her kiss. Not hard enough to puncture skin, but hard enough to make him aware of the fact that she wasn’t pleased._

_Tom grunted, licking the lip she’d left stinging. “I want to be on top, this is... I can’t go as fast… let’s flip.”_

_“Nope, don’t think so,” she moaned. “I like the view from the top.”_

_He grunted again and struggled to sit up more, but shifted forward on the couch until she had no option but to wrap her glorious legs around his waist. Though strong enough to lay her out on the couch and have his way with her, he did not press his luck by doing so._

_Her fingers inched around the back of his neck and dove into the short hair at the base of his skull until she had enough purchase to yank his head back. He acquiesced to her insistence and was met with punishing lips seeking revenge for changing their position, though he could sense the fact that she was losing the ability to focus in a flurry of hips and tensing muscles._

_“I said no,” she panted._

_“I don’t care,” Tom replied, drawing his lips down her neck, laving the hollow at its base. She shivered in his arms, throwing her off just enough that he could press his face into the prominent valley her bra had created. Her purr at his ear and nip of his earlobe was enough inducement for him to nibble the soft skin at the edge of lace and satin. The fingers in his hair squeezed and pulled again, though much more yielding this time._

_Her other hand fell between them, waiting for the moment they parted just enough that she could slip further down. He felt her fingers brush the part of his length her body could not take, until at last they joined the movement of their bodies as she alone took the opportunity to rub her clit. Her breathing hitched and a shaky moan left her lips._

_God, she was magnificent; he wasn’t used to this at all. He was used to doing all the work while listening to the women he was with cooing and telling him how perfect he was, but here she was, a partner who not only met him, but had literally taken matters into her own hands without requiring anything of him. To him, it was one of the hottest things in the world. Why couldn’t more women be like that?_

_He did, however, attempt to be the gentleman. “Do you want me to...?”_

_“Fuck, no,” she panted. “You don’t—you don’t know how. Just keep pumping that wicked cock you have.”_

_He moaned and picked up the pace a little, feeling the tension begin to build in the pit of his stomach. She drove him closer and closer to the edge, building and teasing and gloriously assertive. But still, even as he struggled to hold himself back so she could find her pleasure first, he couldn’t say he had actually unraveled this mysterious woman. Usually the women he was with were more open, told him more, but she was simply moans, purrs and focus._

_So, he offered a strangled, “I’m… close.”_

_“Me too… just… a little…God almighty, you’re good at this…” she said and pushed down onto him, once, then twice, and it all happened._

_Her velvet walls crash down around him and he was done. There was no more holding back waiting for her as the waves of her orgasm wracked her body and transferred to him. He threw his head back, gasping, coming forward and latching onto her neck to kiss her as his own completion overcame him. She slowed and came to a rest as he held her, not willing to let this gem of a woman out of his grasp. Where had she come from? Who was she—really?_

_“That was…”_

_“Great,” she finished the sentence for him as she collapsed against his chest. They stayed like this for a few long, silent moments but for the ragged breathing and clearing of throats. He knew in that instant that he would gladly worship at her altar for as long as it took to discover all of her mysteries. He had all night and some of the weekend before he left. There would be plenty of time._

_But in one swift moment, that opportunity dissolved before he even had a chance to stop it._

_“And now you have to go. It’s late.”_

_“What?”_

_“You have to go. I have to go to church in the morning and it’s… fuck, almost three,” she said as she carefully lifted one leg and slipped away from him. She stood over him and he was pleased to see it was at least on shaky legs. With a slow grin, she bent down to grab the knickers on the floor and pulled them up her legs. “You have a hotel, right?”_

_“I… um… yes. I just thought we’d... have another go in a little bit,” he said, pulling the condom off and trying to discard it. He had a hard time, though, as the outside was slick; he finally managed to complete the task when he found a rubbish bin near the couch._

_“How fucking precious. You wanna fucking cuddle, don’t you?” she asked. “Look, I don’t know how this normally goes for you, Shakespeare, but let me tell you how it goes in South Boston. I pick you up at a classy establishment after you fail to impress me with your fancy British accent and your well recited verse from_ As You Like It _. I take you home, I fuck you, and you go. That’s it. No cuddling, no hand holding, no spooning. You just go.”_

_She grabbed his trousers and tossed them at him. They landed on his head._

_He stood up, clutching the fabric of his trousers between his fingers as though they were a life preserver, and said in a voice that sounded entirely too hurt, “That’s it, then? Just like that?”_

_“That’s it.” She didn’t bother with a glance back at him as she escaped to the bedroom and shut the door. When the lock clicked into place, he knew his time was up. So he dressed quickly and located a scrap of paper and a pen to scribble his number. He hoped she’d call, but he wasn’t holding his breath._

\-----

By the time he finished his story, Ben was nearly on the ground convulsing with laughter. Tom glared at him until he finally managed to get it under control. He again wiped at the tears in his eyes with a paper serviette, struggling to compose himself. “Sorry, mate, I can’t help it. It’s just too good a story.”

“You’re supposed to be supportive,” Tom muttered into his tea.

“I am supportive, and I think it’s about bloody time someone gave you a taste of your own medicine,” Ben replied.

Tom sighed and set his tea aside, resting his elbows on the table in front of him. “I have to find her.”

Ben shook his head. “Is that really something you want? She used you for a purpose and left you out to dry... do you really think she wants to see you again?”

“But I can’t get her out of my system. I feel like it’s unfinished business.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s more finished than many of your previous escapades,” his friend remarked. “And those certainly don’t keep you up at night.”

Tom grumbled. Of course they didn’t. Because _he_ had made the conscious decision that those escapades were through. This time, he’d had no choice. He _hated_ it.

“What are you going to do, then?” Ben asked finally.

He shrugged. “Wait for her to call me...”

Ben chuckled and shook his head. “You might be waiting for a long time, though. Remember, she’s at church.”

And then he dissolved into more mad laughter, garnering him looks of annoyance from other restaurant patrons.

“I really do hate you,” Tom said sotto voce with a roll of his eyes, trying to hide his face in his shame.

“Look, I’m not one to pass judgment. Lord knows I am the last person who should,” Ben replied, “but maybe you should just chalk it up as one hell of an experience and move on. You certainly don’t have time... just two more days here then you’re off filming two movies in a row. No time for romance.”

Tom rubbed his tired face again. “Maybe you’re right.”

Ben shrugged. “And you don’t remember where she took you? The address?”

“There was a cab going by when I stepped out of her building, so no, I didn’t pay attention,” he replied. “Do you pay attention to particulars like that ever a girl’s just fucked your brains out?”

“No,” Ben said. “Can’t say that I do.”

Tom sighed. “I’ll just go back to that bar tonight and try to ask around.”

His friend shook his head. “I hope you’re successful.”

So did he.

Ben glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to get going. My call’s in an hour. Where’s the waitress?”

Tom tuned his chattering out, wishing he could rewind about seven hours and do it all over again, if only to make a better impression. There had to something he was missing. Maybe he’d done something wrong. Maybe—

Maybe Ben was right. Maybe he should just move on, like he normally would have were it another one of the conquests... the conquests _he_ chose. But he hadn’t been the chooser last night. He’d merely been the prey. 

And he wasn’t sure how he should feel about it. He supposed it didn’t matter anyway. Trying to find her again with only a first name and a description was like a needle in a haystack. Even though her looks were distinctive, there had to be a million people in this city who might have similar adornments. 

With a tortured sigh, Tom followed his friend out onto the busy Boston street to go about his day. No one paid them any attention as they rushed here and there, concerned about their own lives. As he walked toward Boylston Street and his hotel, he realized it was almost poetic the way he was ignored by most of the people in this city. Even though they would forget about him ever being here, he couldn’t shake the feeling that when he boarded the aeroplane for Belfast and his next film set, he’d be leaving a piece of him behind in this fair city.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your interest in this story. We are sorry for the wait on this update.
> 
> We have used some character names from The Boondock Saints movies. Enjoy!

**Fifteen months later…**

The dissonance of increasingly loud arguing drew Sully out of the calm of her store room where she had, quite peacefully, been taking inventory of her stock for most of the afternoon. But her quiet respite from business, drunks and screaming babies was now over. Sometimes she loved working with her family, but then there were times like this when they acted like an inbred pack of wolves.  The only way to restore some semblance of peace would be to let her arguing brothers have a very large, very annoyed piece of her mind.

She sighed as she shoved her clipboard between two cases of the bottled cider and rubbed her temples. Just once she’d love to get through an inventory without having to stop midway through to take care of something. The store room, fortunately, was right around the corner from the main bar, and it didn’t take her long to make out the scene. Her twin brothers—the youngest in her family—stood behind the bar and stared at each other with no little contempt in their expressions. Beyond them sat a bar full of patrons, half drinking down their drinks and paying them no mind, while the other half looked on in interest, as though it were a fucking prize fight. Sully often wondered if some of them didn’t show up just to watch the soap opera that was her fucked up family.

“You are a wicked stupid fuck, Murph,” Connor said and, taking a step forward, pushed Murphy back. It wasn’t very forceful—just enough to make everyone aware that he meant business, but not enough to do any damage. Murphy easily righted himself and stepped closer to his brother until they stood toe-to-toe. They weren’t identical, but their dark Sullivan coloring and equally Sullivan temper made them seem much more alike than unalike. Of course it still didn’t explain who or what they were arguing about; it didn’t really matter. Fights in the bar were bad for business, made worse when they were between staff.

Sully had to get them out of the main room. This was a pressure cooker and they were about to erupt, like the hundreds of times they had before this one. The last thing any of them needed was a visit from the cops. “Hey, fuckers, why don’t you take your fuckin’ argument outside? Do it in the alley with the rest of the fuckin’ rats!”

Connor ignored her and poked again at his twin’s chest. “Nomar and Papi are both good in their own ways. Nobody’s better than the other. And you’re a stupid fuck if you don’t agree.”

She groaned. Of course it would be an argument about the damn Sox. If it wasn’t the Sox, it would have been about Tom Brady and the Pats or the last Bruin’s game.

“Papi will always be a better hitter than Nomar.” Murphy pushed back. Harder, this time. “ _You’re_ the stupid fuck.”

And before she could say anything else, Connor grabbed Murphy in a head lock and pummeled his face with a few well aimed punches. At the odd angle, he couldn’t quite get the full strength of his muscular arm behind him, but it was enough to split Murphy’s lip. Blood seeped from the wound and down his chin before she could yank them apart.

“Really? You’re going to do this fucking now? Right the fuck now?” she asked. “This is exactly why you don’t fucking work at the Tap!”

  
“We don’t work at the Tap because we’re too fucking good looking. We’d drive all the rich ladies up there wild.” Connor grabbed one of the clean rags and wrapped it around a fistful of ice for his twin’s beat up lip. “And you fucking know it.”

“Yeah, that’s true, we are pretty fucking handsome,” Murphy hissed, pressing the iced rag to his lip.

“You know what? I really wish Ma had fallen down some stairs when she found out she was pregnant with you two. Honestly!” she said. “Worst decision of her life was to have two fucktards.”

The sound of soft cooing and sucking made her stop the tirade, her senses tingling in sudden alertness. Shifting a few steps to her left, she spied the jungle themed baby bouncer and a wide-eyed blond-headed baby drooling buckets as he sucked his tiny little fists. When the baby noticed her, his lips curled up into a gummy smile.

It took all her effort not to unleash what remained of her wrath on her brothers. Of all the fucking places in the world, they’d chosen to set the baby in the tiny little nook under the bar next to a half-empty case of Sam Adams. Sure, they’d taken the precaution to buffer him with soft blankets and protection from the elements, but that didn’t make up for the fact that they’d brought him into the fucking bar when they’d explicitly been told otherwise.

Sully closed her eyes, counting to ten. She would not kill them. She would not do it. They were her brothers, after all. You didn’t kill your baby brothers. Talking herself down from the ledge didn’t work, however. It only made the explosion that much more violent.

“And the fuck is he doing back here?! Do you fucking want the bar to be shut down and me to get arrested?”

“You asked us to watch him. We can’t watch him if he’s not where we can see him,” Murphy said, all confidence in their decision to bring the baby into the main bar. “It got busy, Connor made me come in, so I brought him in.”

“How can you fucking watch him if both of you are fighting each other back here?”

Murphy and Connor, to their credit, did exchange looks of shame.  It didn’t last long. Connor opened his mouth to yell back, but she held up a hand, stopping him dead.

“Take him the fuck in the back. I swear to fucking Christ, the two of you are going to be the death of me yet,” she said.

Connor picked up the baby, bouncer and all, and disappeared with Murphy in tow. Sully sighed and pulled herself together, pushing back the fluorescent pink hair that had fallen in her eyes as she looked around the bar. All the patrons had gone back to their conversations or had resumed watching the Sox game on the televisions.  Order was restored.

She shook her head and moved went down to the far end of the bar to wash her hands and speak to one of her regular barflies. There wasn’t an evening since her family bought the bar that she didn’t remember Cathleen O’Brien sitting in the exact same seat, having her nightly repast of beer nuts and scotch. “How’s the game, Cathleen?”

“Eh, we’re up by two,” Cathleen said, twirling her fried gray hair around her index finger. She gazed overhead at the television, eyes glassy and watching, but not really very interested in it. Sully knew she came in for the companionship more than she did for anything else; she couldn’t fault Cathleen for that. Having grown up in the bar herself, there was never a shortage of friends to be had. And it was certainly better than going home to a cold, empty house. “Better playing than yesterday.”

“You need another, Cathleen?” Sully motioned to her empty glass.

“Yeah, Sul.” She smiled at Sully, training her droopy old eyes on her for a moment. “You know, you look more and more like your mom every day, ‘cept Molly never had any pink in her hair. It was all dark brown until the day she died.”

Sully laughed and leaned over the bar to fill her tumbler with two fingers of scotch, neat. “Well, I do try and keep things a little different.”

The bells above the door tinkled to announce a new arrival, but she didn’t look up from what she was doing straightening the workspace behind the bar. Honestly, it was a miracle her brothers could even serve drinks correctly with this mess. And they wondered why they wouldn’t get a promotion to work over there! This being the neighborhood bar, most poorly poured drinks were looked over in favor of the ambiance of homey charm, but it certainly wouldn’t have worked at their second bar, and by far the higher class of the two, up near Copley.

“I’ll be with you in a second,” she said to the newcomers as chairs at the bar scraped on the concrete flooring. She quickly changed out Cathleen’s twenty dollar bill and set it on the bar in front of her. “Thank you, Cath.”

“Keep the change, Sully,” she said.

Sully frowned, thinking it was just the liquor making her so generous. “That’s too much.”

“You got a kid to look after now,” Cathleen replied, lifting her drink to her lips. She took a small sip. “Ain’t going to have ol’ Molly haunting me for not helping out.”

“Well, thank you,” Sully chuckled and stuffed the tip into the apron. She glanced quickly at the newcomers, but not long enough to register their faces as she went back to lining up clean pint glasses behind the bar. “What’ll ya have, gentlemen?”

“A couple of beers, please,” said a voice, deep and familiar. It was a voice that always made her smile.

Sully laughed. “That Budweiser piss water you drink, Evans? Or the other kind?”

“Ya know, I haven’t seen you in months, and I come back in here to visit and you treat me like that,” he replied. “Now, are you gonna come around and give me a hug or what?”

She rolled her eyes, but practically hopped around the bar and into his waiting arms. He felt good. Solid. Protective. He’d been working out again for his next movie. Those Marvel folks sure knew what they were doing casting him as the Captain.

“I didn’t expect you to be back in town and in my bar so soon,” she said, pulling away from him. “And haven’t you been staying near the Tap when you’re in town?”

“We didn’t want to be bothered tonight,” he said. “So we made the trip down here for some anonymity.”

Confused, Sully began to question who “we” was, but he stepped aside to introduce her to the friend who had come in with him. There, in all of his beautiful golden glory stood Tom Hiddleston, the very last person she ever thought she would ever see again.

“What the fuck is he doing in here with you, Evans?” she said. “You know this is a neighborhood joint. We don’t need tourists here.”

It took Tom a few moments, too, to comprehend what was going on, but once he did, a slow smile crossed his lips… a smile which made her itch to grab the baby and escape out the bar’s back door while she still had a chance. Instead, she retreated behind the bar, not so much to get them their drinks, but more to shield herself from the following conversation. It was a safe distance, she thought, from him.

He looked at her a second longer and, in his very proper accent, questioned, “Bridget?”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” she hissed. “It’s just Sully around here.”

He slid into a seat beside Chris and leaned over the bar. It was much too close, even standing with her back pressed against the cooler behind her. God, he looked good.

“I… I looked for you. I went back to the bar we met at the next night hoping to see you and you were gone. I just… you were like some memory that haunted me,” he said.

“I was a one night stand, Shakespeare,” she said, trying to brush it off and focus on procuring two beers for two patrons. That was all they were. Patrons. She pulled two bottles from the cooler behind her and popped the caps before sliding them over.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! So you two have met?” Chris asked. “She was the girl that you’ve talked about nonstop since last year? The girl with the hot body and the pussy of gold…”

Sully scoffed and smacked Chris’ hand for his comment.

“Ow! That’s how he described it… Fuck! She’s the one that threw you out?”

“She’s the one,” Tom answered.

Chris dissolved into a fit of joyous laughter. “I should’ve known! There’s only one fucking girl in this town that would—”

“Look, can we not talk about me like I’m not right fucking here?” Sully asked. “That’d be fucking great.”

“I wanted to see you again,” Tom said.

“You wanted to get laid again. I’m not sure if you know how a one night stand works, so let me explain it real fucking slow here… one more time, for your benefit, since you can’t seem to get it. You ready, Tom? I take you home… we fuck… you go home,” she said. “That’s it.”

Tom shook his head. “I know how they work—”

Chris cut Tom off with another laugh before he could go any further. “Believe me, he knows how they work.”

“Not helping,” Tom murmured to Evans, then looked across at her. “There was something deeper, in… what we had. I know you felt it. There was something more there and…”

“Oh my god, save me from men who say there is something more and fucking deeper! There wasn’t anything—” she said.

“Sully!”

She’d never been more grateful to hear her brother yell across the bar for her.

That was, of course, until he also yelled, “Rocco’s hungry!”

“Stop calling him Rocco!” Sully shouted. “I’ll be there in a minute. I’m handling something here.”

That didn’t stop him from seeing Chris and coming all the way out of the back room, or Chris holding his hand out to greet him. “Murphy, how are you, man?”

“Can’t fucking complain, Evans,” Murphy answered, but his dark eyes were already on Tom. Sully prayed Tom wouldn’t keep on about whatever fucking connection he felt. The connection that _hadn’t_ been there. At all.

_Maybe if you keep saying it, Bridget, you might fucking believe it._

She sighed heavily and pulled back a bit, watching the interaction in front of her. As angry as she was that he was back and still mooning over her, she couldn’t deny the fact that having him here made her heart just a little lighter. Not to mention the fact that he looked pretty damn good in the tight white button down and dark suit trousers.

Murphy picked up on that, as well. “Who’s your, uh, very preppy fucking dressed up friend right there?”

“This is Tom. Remember that Avengers movie I was in? Me, you, Connor and Gay Scottie went to go see it?” Chris asked.

“Oh, yeah, with Scarlett Does-the-Carpet-Match-the-Drapes Johansson… I remember, ” Murphy grinned.

Chris threw a thumb at Tom. “He played Loki, the bad guy in it.”

“I see. And you still let him out of the house in those unfortunate fashion choices. I clearly see you don’t fucking like him… get him a Sox cap or something,” Murphy laughed. “Let him blend in with the natives.”

Sully pushed her brother in the chest. “Go back in the back. I’ll be there in a few minutes to take care of Liam.”

“Connor and I were discussing that, by the way. Liam is a stupid fucking name,” Murphy said.

“Liam is the Irish version of William,” Tom piped up, even though he plainly wasn’t entirely with the program.

Before Sully could say anything more, Connor appeared with the baby nestled in his arms. Liam squirmed and fussed all the while smacking his lips and trying to root against Connor’s chest. “Feed Rocco before he has fucking kittens. He’s back there trying to nurse off my titties and I keep telling him that I don’t have anything in them, but he just ain’t buying it.”

Sully grabbed her son and set him on her shoulder, thinking he suddenly weighed a thousand pounds, especially with the heat of Tom’s stare on the side of her face. “I keep telling you to stop calling him Rocco.”

“It’s fucking funny,” Connor said. “Ain’t it, Evans? Connor, Murphy and Rocco. We even got him little baby aviators and this little hat that has a big ol’ beard knitted into it.”

“It is pretty funny, Sul. Since when did you get so fucking serious?” Chris asked.

Sully groaned. “I got fucking serious when I had to push something the size of a watermelon out of an opening the size of a lemon. Now, fuck off.”

Evans chuckled. “He’s getting awful big. I’ve not seen him in a while—how old is he now?”

Sully chewed her lip and glanced at Tom for a quick second. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head.. “Nearly six months.”

“He’s tall. I mean look at him, all legs and torso.” Chris smiled. “He’s going to be a big guy.”

“I’m sure he will be. No accounting for his short mom, but his dad and his uncles are all pretty tall,” she said.

“Yeah, and she won’t tell us who his dad is either so we can go fucking kill him for leaving her knocked up and alone,” Connor said. “Who the fuck does that, anyway?”

“I told you both,” Sully said, sotto voce, in an attempt to get them to stop. But they didn’t take orders well, especially orders said in a tone of voice with multiple levels of meaning. Even a brick over the head couldn’t make them understand the subtle nuances of human speech and intention. “ _It doesn’t matter_. Fucking leave it alone. Liam and I are fine, he has enough men in his life. He doesn’t need one more.”

“Yeah, well, if I ever find out who this Liam Thomas guy is… the one he’s named after… I’m going to fucking beat his fucking face in. No one leaves my sister. No one,” Murphy said.

“ _What_ did you say his name was?” Tom asked quietly.

  
“Whose name?” Murphy asked. “The baby? His name is Liam Thomas Sullivan. Sully gave him our last name.”

“Liam Thomas?” Tom’s voice trailed off as his brain worked through the situation that had presented itself. Sully wondered if he would faint. He looked a little peaky as he muttered to himself, “Liam short for William… Thomas…”

Chris caught onto his friend’s musing, his eyes growing wide with recognition. He reached out as if to grab the man. Clearly, he, too, thought Tom might faint.

But Tom didn’t. He stood tall and proud and as beautiful as ever. “But _my_ name is Thomas William.”

Silence fell within the group of large men. All she could do was hug the baby tighter to her body and prepare for the storm she now saw coalescing in front of her. This wasn’t how she imagined this at all. Actually, she’d never imagined it, if she were honest with herself. Allowing herself those moments of fantasy, where the guy came back on his white steed to take her away from her life, never did her any good. So she just didn’t allow herself those moments of weakness.

Besides, she’d thought Tom was long gone after that night together. She wasn’t in the market for a relationship. Relationships of any sort weren’t meant for women like her. Women like her were condemned to one night stands to satisfy their urges and then soldiering on and taking care of themselves. Women like her didn’t get close to anyone, not only to protect themselves, but also to protect the other person in the relationship. That was just how it was supposed to be. She’d seen too many people get hurt for getting too close.

“Oh my god,” Tom said, just on the edge between belief and disbelief as though he were still trying to comprehend the situation. As though he were trying to convince himself this was no dream—or nightmare, for that matter—but cold, hard reality. She knew it was difficult. She had barely believed it when she found out she was pregnant with his child.

In a flash, he was on the floor, however not from a light head. Rather, both Connor and Murphy stood over Tom, the former flexing his hand after what she supposed was a quick jab that had knocked Tom out cold. She couldn’t say for certain because it had been such a blur.

She mumbled to herself and held the baby out to Chris. “Hold him.”

“But—” Chris protested.

“Just fucking hold him,” she growled, pushing the baby into his arms and, in one fluid movement, dove between her brothers and Tom, who was just coming to. “Connor! Murphy! Get the fuck out of here!”

“But—” they too protested.

She jumped up and pushed them away. “Get behind the fucking bar and stay there. If I needed your fucking help you fucking fucks, I would have asked for it.”

Neither twin seemed impressed, but followed her orders.

“Now give me the baby,” she said, grabbing Liam from Chris’ arms, “and _you_ bring him back to the office.”

When Chris didn’t move, she snapped. “NOW!”

There was something satisfying in the fact that at least one male of her acquaintance was intelligent enough to follow her orders when she gave them. With another angry growl, she led the march back to the office, trying to think of something to say to Tom when they were alone.


End file.
